Namàrië
by Hobbit Freak
Summary: Frodo Baggins is a lonely lad growing up in Brandy Hall after his parent's death. An outcast and seen as a troublemaker by his family, he has many enemies and few friends. All of that changes when he meets someone whom he feels unrequited loyalty to. He grows up into a fine gentlhobbit over time with Bilbo in Bag End. Can he choose between the life he pines for and his great task?
1. Loss, Lasses and Bullies

J.M.J

A\N: Hullo Readers! I hope everyone enjoys "Namàrië" as much as I am doing writing it. It is a Frodo Baggins fic to some people's consternation and other's delight. Yet, as a lot of Frodo fics are AU, this one is actually not. It is quite canon on the contrary. Perhaps not canon to some people's mindset about Frodo's thought waves, but everything, to my understanding, follows the "Law and Order of Middle-Earth" if you will. I shall include a Story Summary and Chapter Summary at the beginning of each new chapter (A wonderful idea I picked up from CE'Shaughnessy). And I promise you I will not stop writing, even if it takes me an eternity. I have to say, beta-ing burningSunset's fic, "Wild Child" (beautiful hobbit AU fic, people. Go and read it) has given me some more experience under my belt with the world of writing, which is my very dear passion. I hope once again you enjoy reading, and I would not mind a comment, however casual. I am known for posting elongated Notes at the beginning of my stories, but I assure you they do not come but once at the commencement of the tale. So enjoy and give some critique if you notice any flaws or room for improvement; I will surely PM you if possible or else mention you in the next chapter. And thank you, BrisingrGandalf and TheaterDiva for all of the inspiration & support.

In all haste: Hobbit Freak

**Chapter One – Loss, Lasses and Bullies**

**Story Summary:** Frodo Baggins is a lonely lad growing up in Brandy Hall after his parent's death. An outcast and seen as a troublemaker by his family, he has many enemies and few friends. All of that changes when he meets someone who gives him a reason to do more than harbor his angry feelings for the ones who harm him. After he is taken to Bag-End to live with his cousin Bilbo, life begins shaping up for the better as he begins to grow up into a gentlehobbit full of kindness and a free spirit that is nurtured by Bilbo's newfound parenting skills. As the time passes and Frodo inherits Bag-End and another certain trinket which changes his fate forever, he is willing to give up the life he secretly longed for and struggle on to save his homeland and all he holds dear. Pre and Post-War of the Ring.

**Chapter Summary:** Young twelve-year-old Frodo grieves for the loss of his parents, feeling utterly alone and angry as his uncles and aunts squabble over whom is to take responsibility over him. Time passes, and the lad finds himself a tall lad of seventeen years at a brilliant Lithe celebration. Considered a troublemaker, he acts upon his family's assumptions about him and tries to get into mischief and avoid lasses, only to run into them over and over again plus successfully getting himself battered by bullies.

Once again the lightening flickered away off in the distance; Frodo hugged his knees tighter. The bluish aura of the room reflected the bitter cold that it held. And the cold wasn't the only thing making young Frodo Baggins sniffle. He could still hear the lullaby his mother had sung last week echoing through his mind . . .

_Little child, I'm here sweet, just hear my voice. Sleep, love. No, not even the strongest fear can catch your mind now that I'm here, just hear . . . sleep. _

A crash of thunder exploded suddenly as the storm approached, shaking the window the lad sat by. Frodo started, and another tear he had been holding in his brilliantly big eyes escaped and rolled down his cheek.

"_Love you, Frodo."_ She had said.

"_Where are you going, Mum?"_ her son had asked, sitting up in bed.

Primula had then ran a hand through Frodo's dark curls, telling him to hush and that his Da and her were going somewhere for a bit. They would be back. Yet now Frodo stared out at the gathering storm outside, wishing that he was down at the bottom of the Brandywine with his parents.

"You said that you'd be back . . . but you're not. Y-you're not . . ."

With this he broke out in gentle bursting sobs, hiding his face in his tucked-up knees. He was alone now. Nobody wanted him. He had overheard his relatives arguing over who was to take him in yesterday evening.

"_Well, who's up to it? I expect at least __**two**__ volunteers to step forward." _Old uncle Rory had demanded in an important family meeting he had called that night. Frodo had been peeking around the corner whilst trying not to let his ever-present sobs get too noisy. All had hung their heads in shame for not really wanting to have another mouth to feed. _"Dinodas? What about you?" _Rorimac had once again questioned, giving his youngest brother a withering stare.Din had no family, and was presently living the life of bachelor-at-ease. Dinodas quickly looked away from the confrontation, mumbling excuses about how _"hard life was getting these days."_

"_Ha! Your fat stomach tells that true enough, Din!"_ Asphodel spoke up. _"I'd take the sweet young lad, Rory, if it wasn't for my failing health. If Rufus were still alive . . ."_

Rory had hushed her with a wave of his hand.

"_I know you would, Sophie. But that's out of the question."_

Then he had added in a hushed whisper, _"And you all know that my Saradoc would have the lad, he almost adores him to death, but for his wife's condition. They've lost another wee one right at birth. The lass is still recovering, don't you know. Couldn't possibly expect them to take him! It just is another burden."_

Frodo madly wiped his hot tears away as he forced himself to stop thinking about them and what they thought; why did it matter anyway?

"It . . . it doesn't matter who gets me." He reassured himself, drawing the back of his sleeve across his nose, "It really doesn't, does it, Frodo?" The lad was now staring at the window pane. His reflection gazed back at him, the rain making his cheeks and eyes contort with the downpour of squiggly streams of water. "Beautiful Frodo!" He sneered at it, a wave of anger suddenly replacing his grief, "Isn't that what they all say? That I'm a "rare find"? Ha! They don't know how truly hideous I really am. No . . ." Unwelcome thoughts flashed across his mind of the shattered glass on the portraits of Primula and Drogo Baggins lying on the ground. Spread all across the floor of his room like many little naughty children mocking him for breaking his parent's pictures. Glistening glass, mocking, teasing, _Silly Frodo's lost but not gone . . . gone like his family; bad, bad son! _

No, he was hideous. They'd never understand.

_**Five years later . . .**_

The shouts of the other children urged the runners on ever faster; it was Lithe, or midsummer's eve, and the festivities had already exploded at Brandy Hall in an array of snapping banners and lively games. Saradoc had commissioned a great celebration, bigger than any before, three years ago to celebrate the first baby born to him to live; Meriadoc, dubbed Merry. It was a fine boy, if any, looking the exact replica of his father with soft brown curls, a strong chin and that uneven Brandybuck grin. Yet he had his mother's Tookish sense of mischief, and was now the three-year-old horror of Buckland and the entire Marish. And today was the great day of Lithe, and wasn't Merry excided to bring his "brother" Frodo out and show him everything from the pretty streamers to the massive supplies of food set out under the big white terrace.

"Frodo, I'll show you the pretties out there!" he had squealed, clutching Frodo's hand in his own chubby own, massaging it to a pulp. The young Baggins had cracked a smile at this; Merry always became a mess of energy at the sound of "party".

"Well let's go then."

Frodo, hiking Merry up onto his back, had strolled out onto Brandy Hall's lawn, scanning the crowds to see who had shown up. His face brightened at the sight of Cousin Paladin, who had always been kind to Frodo. "Hello Uncle!" he shouted out, waving and giving a rare and genuine smile. Paladin waved back and excused himself from the person he was speaking to (who was Dora Baggins, who was nagging him about his unruly daughters), and came over the two cousins. "Hallo Frodo, Merry!" He greeted, nodding cordially, sticking his thumbs behind his braces and tottering on the balls of his feet, making the middle-aged Took look rather like a young hobbit just out of his tweens. _How much I like Cousin Paladin!_ Thought Frodo, now grinning from ear to ear. "Hello Pearl's da." Merry said matter-of-fact like from Frodo's back, sticking a hand out for him to shake.

"Merry, it's "Uncle" to you." Frodo reprimanded with a smirk. "No harm done, Frodo." Paladin laughed, shaking his cousin's hand, "My! What a handshake young hobbit!" Frodo blushed, looking down at the ground; he forgot that sometimes his grip would startle others . . . they expected less of a lad with so fair a set of hands. After an awkward moment of silence, Mr. Took broke it with, "So, how old are you now Frodo? Last time I saw you, you were that high" he motioned a height with his hand, ", you've shot up since then!"

"I'm seventeen, Mr. Took."

"Seventeen! You'll be thirty-three before long, lad, at the rate you're going."

"I'm just tall, that's all."

Paladin noticed how red the lad's face had grown, and noted that he was shy one. Merry apparently had had enough of being ignored as he shouted out, "I stole THREE WHOLE CAKES from the kitchen and I didn't even get . . ." his proclamation was interrupted by an audacious voice calling for Paladin.

"DA!"

Frodo looked over at the newcomer. It was a lass . . . dear Eru not a lass! The one thing that was scared him more than spiders were girls, and he took a few steps backwards, his brows slowly knitting themselves into a frown. She was only a little lass, perhaps ten or eleven, but her green eyes were filled with the strangest mix of Tookish emotion. Mr. Took was bending down to her level, listening to her problem as she gushed forth her tale, her light brown curls whipping back and forth as she vividly blinked those eyes . . . scary eyes, Frodo thought them.

"Let's go Frodo!"

Apparently Merry had the same feelings about lasses, and the pair slowly backed away unnoticed, slipping back into the crowd. As soon as they were out of sight, Frodo breathed a sigh of relief. "Merry, I hate lasses." He confided to his cousin still clinging to his back while taking in the wonderful smells about him. It was really going to be the biggest Lithe celebration of all, just like Saradoc had said! There were so many pans of seed cakes, why, he could just keep on counting and counting! And those roasting chickens looked absolutely divine the way they gave off their pungent aroma. Ah! His nostrils could not bear it any longer. He must eat something right now, or go completely insane.

"Merry! Let's go snitch some sweet potatoes from Mrs. Goodbodie's pot." Frodo suggested, eyeing the food in mind with a wicked grin, the dark hair that fell in front of his eyes as he set Merry down made him look very boyishly sinister. "YAY!" Merry exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "Shh!" Frodo hissed, shaking his cousin's arm a little. "We need to remain silent if this is going to work, my little minion." He said.

"Frodo?"

"Yes?"

"What's a minion?"

"I do not know."

Shrugging, the two went in search of the coveted prize of sweet potatoes, their very movements abruptly changing to catlike as they dodged old ladies and bobbed past the tomfoolery of the tweenagers. Slipping beneath all of the long tables . . . it was all too easy. At least they hadn't been spotted yet; they'd surely reprimand Merry for following "that orphan" around.

_Well I'll show them just how much mischief I can land my cousin and I in, yes, and get grounded for weeks._

Frodo smiled at his thoughts, thinking of all of those horrible stares and comments he would surely receive when all of his extended family would see him making trouble again. He decided long ago that he didn't care about what they thought of him, no, in fact he enjoyed see them squirm when he would focus his fiery blue eyes on theirs when accused of something he hadn't done. Being a stranger in Brandy Hall- the place he had grown up in –suited him just fine. He knew that people gossiped all over the Marish about his shy façade and irksome trouble-causing ways. Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, he concentrated more at the task at hand.

"Merry, I think we should crawl to the left now . . . Merry?"

Looking behind him, Frodo frowned at the absence of his little companion. Where had he gone? Oh well, toddlers were unreliable anyways. The quest must commence, though. Continuing crawling throughout the maze of tables, he slowly made his way to the last table and the sweet potatoes. Approaching it a swift pace on all fours, the young hobbit grinned at the familiar sent of the coveted vegetable. Yet suddenly, he froze in his tracks. Who in the world was that?

There was a lass sitting under Mrs. Goodbodie's table with an enormous bowl of sweet potatoes in front of her. Frodo froze in his tracks, his eyes as wide as saucers. He almost shrieked when she turned toward him, ready to make an escape with her stolen food. _No, no, no!_ Frodo thought wildly, backing up clumsily. Yet it was entirely too late. She crashed into him, orange sauce now dripping from both of their hair. Horror-stricken, the lad shakily brushed a potato off of his nose, gaping at the mass of brown curls spread across his lap. He poked at the face . . . it didn't move. Was she dead? She was dead. Oh no, she was dead! He was a murderer!

_Wait._ He told himself, _something is only dead if it isn't breathing._ Quickly laying his head against her chest, he felt the rise and fall of deep breaths. He could then exhale in the realization that he was still an innocent boy.

Then it hit him. There was a girl on his lap. Sweat beads started forming on his forehead as she stirred awake again. He could feel every heartbeat vibrate his ribcage as if a great drum had been placed inside of him.

"Uhhh . . . huh?"

The lass's eyelids flew open, revealing eyes likened to Frodo's, yet much smaller as they squinted with the light of day. Frodo squirmed uncomfortably under her close scrutiny. "Who are you?" she asked bluntly, not at all pleased with the feeling she got from the lad, whoever he was. She searched his face, arms and neck, grimacing at the smears of dirt that he had across his cheeks. Sitting up, the lass disdainfully peered at the soiled trousers she had rested her head upon.

"I-I'm Frodo Baggins! Who are you? Why are you stealing my potatoes? I was here first, you know!"

"They are _not_ your potatoes! I have as much right to them as you do!"

"You do not! Besides, you're a girl."

"And a girl got to them before a lad like you could. Shame, that is."

"You still haven't told me who you are, lass-fiend."

"Cockawhoop."

"That's no name!"

"Is so you affected old Baggins!"

The two hobbits sat glaring at one another for minutes on end, sticky sweet goop trickling down their curls. "You aren't worth my time!" Frodo finally exclaimed, giving an exasperated huff as he crawled out from under the tables. As he emerged a complete mess from head to foot, he tried to brush his trousers off nonchalantly, bouncing up and down and flashing a smile at passersby as to look inconspicuous. He thought that he had done a fair job of it, for he had gone all the way to the first line of pine trees closest to his bedroom window where he was figuring to get through into some clean clothes.

"Queer lasses always make me nervous."

He was stopped in his tracks by a low, taunting voice coming from behind. He tried to not start breathing too quickly at the rapidly approaching footfalls. _You can take them today, Frodo Baggins._ He told himself inwardly before he swiveled around to face the others. His heart sank; there were four lads, all in their tweens. "What do you want, Tim?" Frodo growled, balling his fists up at his sides. The tallest lad there, Tim Burrows, was in fact as tall as Frodo, but not as gangly of limbs as he. Tim cocked a brow at his companions, giving a small chuckle.

"They wanted me to show them the little orphan whose father murdered his wife. I supposed that I'd show them and here you are!"

A smirk was forming on Tim's face as his friends all snickered at the remark. Frodo's face began to pale at the mention of his parents. His tormentor stepped forward to poke his victim roughly in the chest, saying, "I bet you even knew about your dastardly father's plans, and kept quiet so as to not get a whipping!" Everyone there laughed, except for Frodo who full-force out and punched Tim in the jaw, screaming, "Never speak that way about my father! He was an upright hobbit . . . better than you at least!" At that, he up and kneed him in the vulnerables. The young Burrows doubled over and hollered with pain as the others rushed over to Frodo and kicked his feet out from underneath him. In an instant Frodo was on his stomach crouched in a huddle as the older boys kicked fiercely at his sides and slapped the sides of his face without relent.

"So the Baggins is all alone now, without his Da and Mum to save him? Aww, we should take care of him then!"

The beating continued as Frodo struggled to crouch into a tighter ball, desperately trying to forget about the dull pain that was radiating everywhere on his being as the tweenagers made him into a punching bag. Eyes tightly closed, he could hear Tim shouting, "Haul him up! Haul him up! I wanna get one shot at him, the dirty, rotten . . ." Two lads jerked their prey up by his arms, exposing his face, now streaked with dirt and blood.

"Ha! Still got fight in you, eh?" Tim laughed tonelessly before walloping Frodo straight in the nose, and once in the stomach before they all scattered at the sound of a gaffer's voice approaching. Frodo managed to drag himself behind some bushes by his window before he got there. Then all he could do was lie there in heap, utterly exhausted. He felt like crying. It wasn't fair! They just couldn't all gang up on him like that . . . the only friends he had to back _him_ up were Merry; and he was but a toddler! So feeling so very alone, he fell asleep under the window, oblivious to anything but his anger and pain.


	2. My Bubble

+J.M.J.+

**Chapter Two – My Bubble**

**Story Summary: **Frodo Baggins is a lonely lad growing up in Brandy Hall after his parent's death. An outcast and seen as a troublemaker by his family, he has many enemies and few friends. All of that changes when he meets someone who gives him a reason to do more than harbor his angry feelings for the ones who harm him. After he is taken to Bag-End to live with his cousin Bilbo, life begins shaping up for the better as he begins to grow up into a gentlehobbit full of kindness and a free spirit that is nurtured by Bilbo's newfound parenting skills. As the time passes and Frodo inherits Bag-End and another certain trinket which changes his fate forever, he is willing to give up the life he secretly longed for and struggle on to save his homeland and all he holds dear. Pre and Post-War of the Ring.

**Chapter Summary: **Frodo awakes from his tussle with the bullies. He is greeted with a strange lass who seems to be innocently curious about his situation. She saves him from a predicament and gets invited to a late tea. Frodo is delighted to have found a true . . . dare he say friend?

When Frodo awoke, the hill cascading below Brandy Hall was bathed in the golden light of the waning sun. His head hurt and felt airy and light as if he had held his breath for too long, his sides feeling no better. The buzz of the crickets heralded the coming of night, and thus the beginning of the great feast down by the tents. Saradoc would be giving a speech soon to all of the hobbits gathered there on the many benches as they drank to his health over and over again. It was a bother to have to sit up, as the lad tried that but once and fell back down again, fatigued.

_I really should think about getting inside. _

His thoughts told him to get up and just climb through that window and he'd be out of sight and out of mind to anyone. Ah, his soft bed sounded heavenly right now. Perhaps he could make it to the medicine cabinet where Esmeralda kept all of her salves and grab some for his bruises. Yes, that would feel simply _wonderful._ But not moving was just as nice . . . his sides just ached terribly.

"Ohhhh . . ." he groaned as he finally inched up on an elbow. Gulping back more moans, his sight focused back to a clear view, the soft light of the evening aiding him greatly. The cheers of the hobbits down below told Frodo that the speech had begun. His cousins probably thought that he was out in some farmer's crop pilfering mushrooms. _Far from it, cousins!_ He furiously thought, tenderly touching his nose, feeling the caked blood on his face. "Stupid tweens . . ." he snarled, grabbing at the freshly turned soil beneath him.

"Stupid tweens?"

Frodo looked up quickly . . . who had said that?

"Hello."

Out of the blue there was a hobbit in front of him, two long auburn braids dangling from a curious face. Frodo blinked slowly a few times, trying to make sure his vision just wasn't acting up on him again. Ah, well no. It was real live hobbit who getting closer and closer. "Umm . . . stay back!" he exclaimed, scooting away a bit from the new addition to his solitude. "Why?" the other asked, seemingly very confused, her strange eyes- brown and blue in both of them- regarding him circumspectly. Frodo coughed as if going to explain something.

"Well, um, there is this thing called your "bubble" and that means nobody is allowed in it unless you say they can. And my bubble starts right here."

The lad drew a line in the dirt with his finger a good one-and-a-half feet from him. The lass backed up on her hands and knees. "Oh. I didn't know." She said, pulling her hand away from where she was about to poke the dried blood on Frodo's cheek. There was a long period of silence where the two sat observing the other with curio. "Are you hurt?" the girl finally asked, scratching her head. "Does it look like I'm hurt?" Frodo responded slowly, tilting his head slightly. The lass nodded. _She must be a nitwit!_ He thought.

"Sorry . . . you just looked quite . . . alone here. And hurt. So I didn't quite know if I should think you a ghost or not. You know, one of those hobbits that were killed by the White Wolves a-ways back."

Frodo was now very befuddled at the appearance of this strange lass. "Are, are _you_ a ghost?" he asked shakily, the thought suddenly dawning on him, making quivers of terror shoot through the strings in his chest. "I should think not!" the girl spoke up louder than she had been, then broke out into a long sting of quiet laughter. The young Baggins now had his turn to scratch his head. "What's so funny?" he questioned. "Oh, well, I was just thinking about my being a ghost. If I was, then I would surely turn you into a ghost too! You would be frightened out if your wits!" she chuckled, obviously amused by the notion of this peculiar lad being frightened out his wits.

Frodo raised an eyebrow . . . this was a little too odd for his tastes. He decided that it was about time to go through his window now, where there was no more strangeness than the cuckoo-clock on his wall. Standing up erratically, he gave a quick nod of his head before stabilizing himself with a hand on the side of the hole. "Well I suppose I must be going now; a good day to you!" With that, he turned briskly, unlatched his window and squirmed half of his body through the opening.

_Uh oh._ He thought with a sinking feeling. This was _not_ good; he was stuck. His sore ribs could simply not push another inch. Frodo began to panic, squirming with all of his might. "Oh dear, oh no, oh no, no, no!" he cried out, flailing his arms and legs madly. He was about to break down and start screaming for help when he felt something hard being poked roughly on his rear end. "What in the . . .?" he began as he was bounced up and down in an uncomfortable manner, every push jostling his bruises. "Stop that right now!" he shouted firmly, and the pushing ceased. He heard someone running away. Great. He had just blown any chance of help.

_Well what now?_

There was no answer to any of the calls he gave, no matter how loud he was. "HEEEELLO?! IS ANYONE OUT THERE?!" he screamed fruitlessly again and again. The window hole was becoming tighter and tighter, it seemed, and breathing more difficult. As he looked around his room frantically for anything that was in his reach, and he soon realized that only his washing table was at hand. "Argggggh!" he growled in frustration, throwing his small comb across the room. He was about to do the same to the bar of soap when an idea sprang into his head. Eyes all aglow, Frodo began un-tucking his shirt until only his bare middle was up against the sides of the window. Reaching over to the wash basin, he dipped the soap into the water and rubbed until it was covered in suds, making his hands completely slimy. Smiling at his ingenuity, he soaped up his torso as best as the tight squeeze would allow him and attempted to push forward.

Still utterly stuck.

Colorful words began streaming out of his mouth right when his door burst open, and the girl from outside stood panting on the threshold, her braids disheveled as she cried out, "There you are! At last I've found the right room!" The look on her face said that perhaps she had peeked into a privy-in-use or two. The lass rushed over to Frodo, reaching out to grab his arms yet stopping as if remembering something suddenly.

"May I enter into your bubble to pull you out?"

Frodo nodded, bewildered. He _did_ want to be set free, yes? With that she smiled and took up his arms and tugged with a few grunts. The lad soon enough came flying out of the window, doing two somersaults as he thudded across the floor. Shaking his dark curls around, he sprang up and flexed his shoulders, enjoying the freedom. "Thank you!" he said in almost a laugh, grinning from ear to ear, "I am most obliged! That hole was getting to be painful." The lass nodded politely, saying as she exited to leave, "I'm sorry about the stick-on-the-bum-poking, but I didn't want to . . . you know, get too close."

"Wait!" Frodo called, "You must stay to tea, albeit to late, but anyways," he smiled warmly, "I didn't expect anyone to come to help." The lad felt a great urge of obligation to her, whoever she was. The other looked doubtful for a moment, but when she saw her host's expectant face, she agreed. "Splendid! Then wait here and I shall be straight back." He pulled up a chair from his desk for her to sit upon before he scuttled away in search of a tea tray. The girl sat there uncomfortably, tapping her fingers apprehensively on the arms of the chair. Running her hand up and down the length of the lovely polished wood on the seat, she smiled as a memory crept up in her mind, one that reminded her of days bygone. Her father had a chair just like this once . . .

The door opened once more, revealing a still-smiling Frodo, overburdened with a tray filled with a kettle, cups and scones. He brightly began talking as he went about the room pulling crates here and there and setting a table. "So! You haven't yet told me your name." he began, pulling out a vivid yellow sheet from his drawers to use as a tablecloth. The lass was, up until now, sitting precariously on the edge of her elegant seat, ready to leave at the mere mention that she was not wanted, yet now a little eased by her companion's warm cheerfulness she answered his question with, "I'm Marletta Boffin, and I live down in Standelf on a small farm my grandfather started when my father was boy. My family has lived there ever since then."

Frodo nodded knowingly; he knew some of the Boffins from Standelf since they came to help with the barn raisings sometimes. "Yes, I think I know some of your family. You're from down south of the Brandywine, by Standelf you said?" Marletta bobbed her head, taking the offered cup of tea the lad offered her, letting the heat of the cup relax the muscles in her hands. "Cah for scowne?" Frodo asked with his mouth full, giving another smile through his full cheeks. Marletta's eyebrows rose in amusement as she watched the other devour almost all of the scones in a minute flat. She shook her head no, knowing that he probably needed them more than she did. Besides, she was taught to not take much but tea at another's home.

"Oh!" Frodo exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air as if he had remembered something, "My name is Frodo. Frodo Baggins. Pleased to meet you, Marletta. And thank you for your extraordinary assistance in setting me free from the window." He stuck out his hand pleasantly, real thankfulness shining through his blue eyes. Marletta hesitated.

"You may enter my bubble, it truly is alright."

The lass took it, each giving a few firm pumps before releasing their hold.

"Just call me Lettie. That's what my uncle calls me."

_Her uncle?_ Thought Frodo, _I guess I must look like her uncle or something._ He then realized that he had bits of dried blood all over his face still. Apologizing, he stuttered, "Oh, well, I am sorry about coming to tea looking like I just got in a fight at the Golden Perch." He then pulled a napkin off of the crate-table, licked it and began wiping his chin off forcefully. Lettie began to grin, yet caught herself, knowing that she must, must, _must_ keep her manners in this grand Brandy Hall place. But what an odd situation to have entered here! It was indeed a strange thing having met this eccentric boy lying in the bushes. And she would've just passed him by if it wasn't the look that he held on his face while he slept; a look of pain and loneliness. She had known it before, and pity had stirred in her heart to where she had to at least go and investigate what on earth he was doing there all beat and soiled under the window.

"Alright then Lettie, that's what I shall call you. You _are_ my rescuer, after all." Frodo said, pouring some more tea in her cup at her consent. He didn't really know why he had invited her to stay for tea . . . he supposed that it had something to do with the fact that she'd come all the way through Brandy Hall- notwithstanding it was a strange place to her –to find him and pull him out when no one else was around. And she had just met him and he had been so blunt and frosty! And he had mentioned the "bubble" . . . dear Shire why in the world had he said that? _Frodo Baggins, you hate lasses. You can't just go thinking that this one might be you're, well, friend. It's ridiculous!_ He thought to himself, something he had been doing a lot of lately.

Frodo noticed that Lettie was stealing glances at the many jumbled sketches covering his walls with a hint of wonder. "Do you like them?" he asked, pointing at the charcoal drawings. "Oh . . . um, well . . . yes. Yes! I do like them! They are beautiful." She answered, blushing at being caught staring. The young Baggins went over to the wall next to his bed and plucked a yellowing piece of paper from the many there and stared at it fondly for a moment before handing it to Marletta. Her eyes widened at it; it was the poppy field right east of Standelf!

The one that made her uncle sneeze every spring when the flowers were blooming . . . the strokes were perfect, it looked as she was really standing there, the breeze carrying the sent of the aromatic flower on its breast. Oh, wouldn't Uncle Gordo be furious every time those flowers made him sneeze when he was doing his chores! The thought of her uncle came up so fast that she barely had time to spring up before she was done thinking it. "I must leave!" she exclaimed, setting her teacup down carefully, paying mind to quickly fold her napkin also.

"Thank you, Frodo Baggins. I shall never forget your kindness." She said seriously, her eyebrow quirking up a little as if telling him that she was forever indebted. Frodo smiled one last time, saying softly in return, "Nor I yours, Marletta Boffin. Thanks to you I am free from further humiliation, and I owe you this much, if not more." Nodding, the lass turned and, instead of using the door, slipped out the window with ease. Walking to the window to see her off, Frodo saw her skirt billowing about her knees as she stumbled down the hill. Lettie turned once down by the road and gave a quick wave, her newfound friend as she thought of him doing the same.

As Frodo saw her disappear down the road at a gait, he suddenly realized how tired he really was from the day's events and yawning, staggered over to his bed where he collapsed on the unmade blankets where his eyelids immediately began to droop. He looked over at his picture of the Standelf poppy field lying right next him on his pillow. Bringing it in front of him, he slowly fell asleep picturing bullies being chased away by a lass with two auburn braids and a sword, and what a feeling of contentment he had as he finally slipped off to dreamland, where Tim Burrows didn't exist.


	3. Summer Cold

+J.M.J.+

will zona: I'm glad you think it so! I've been reading more Frodo and OC stories lately, and decided it was about time I wrote one m'self. I'm hoping this one will be believable, and sound like something that Frodo would do. Thank you for the review . . . I was so immensely pleased when the notification went off at 5 AM telling me of it that I wasn't even bothered that I was awoken. ;) Thanks again!

Frodo's sister: I PM respond all first reviews, and from then on I answer them on the next chapter, like this. And don't worry . . . I shall add a lot more of the reason Frodo is so melancholy and guarded. I hope you keep reading and I hope I can create a well-rounded Frodo character that eventually blooms into the portrait that J.R.R. Tolkien made him to be. Thanks for the review!

A\N: Hello everybody, chapter three here! I hope it has a nice, lighter air to it, even though some parts are a bit gloomy. If you read the story and like\dislike it, or see changes that you'd like to see in it, be not afraid to review! Encouragement makes for a good story and more updates hee hee! And I'd like to add that I'll be updating every week or sooner, so keep checking up on it for updates. Writing takes up most of my spare time, plus I am part of the writing group OperationShire which will be shortly on FFN. (We are writing about the Blue Wizards, and it is one amazing story I tell you.) Okay, enjoy Chapter 3!

**Chapter Three: Summer Cold**

**Story Summary: **Frodo Baggins is a lonely lad growing up in Brandy Hall after his parent's death. An outcast and seen as a troublemaker by his family, he has many enemies and few friends. All of that changes when he meets someone who gives him a reason to do more than harbor his angry feelings for the ones who harm him. After he is taken to Bag-End to live with his cousin Bilbo, life begins shaping up for the better as he begins to grow up into a gentlehobbit full of kindness and a free spirit that is nurtured by Bilbo's newfound parenting skills. As the time passes and Frodo inherits Bag-End and another certain trinket which changes his fate forever, he is willing to give up the life he secretly longed for and struggle on to save his homeland and all he holds dear. Pre and Post-War of the Ring.

**Chapter Summary:** Sick with a bothersome summer cold, Frodo is confined to his quarters for the day. Yet the great outdoors is calling his name . . . what lad could resist it? He decides to take a trip to the nearest pond for a cooling swim, where he is intruded upon by a gaggle of lasses. Frodo sees someone unexpected there, and when things turn nasty, he is given the choice to help or ignore the situation. He is soon alone and very sick, and an unexpected savior comes to his aid.

"Yuck! That is _disgusting_, Esmie!"

Furrowing his brows, Frodo, without thinking I'll warrant, poured the goopy mixture of sorghum and herbs into his glass of water, and there it sank to the bottom, settling there in a brown heap. Esmeralda Brandybuck set her hands upon her hips, a look of exasperation crossing her soft features. "And what exactly was that for, Frodo Baggins?" she inquired, picking up the glass and closely peering at the mixture, summing up the possibilities of how to remove the medicine safely from the water. The lad fidgeted.

"Well Esmie, I, uh, just thought that uhh . . . I could make it go down better that way."

Mrs. Brandybuck cast a sideways glance at her young cousin; she did not whatsoever believe his excuse. She knew he would refuse to drink the mess he had just made. _Oh that boy will never take his medicine! _She thought wearily, passing a hand over her brow.

"Well you'd best start drinking it then."

Esmie handed Frodo the glass, now a translucent brown. The unwilling lad scowled at it and, licking his lips, he took the slightest sip. The contents of his mouth came spraying out, giving his cousin a nice shower. Violent coughing followed his outburst as he wiped at his tongue fiercely, trying to remove the horrid taste of bitter herbs. "It's horrid, nasty, terrible, putrid, filthy . . ." Frodo went on and on. Esmeralda scolded him in between his coughing, telling him that he should be grateful that he even had anything at all to help his cold. It was then told to the unenthusiastic lad that he was to stay put in his room until every last drop of that glass was gone. And _then_ he was to get his night clothes on and get into bed so he could get some rest.

"But Esmie," Frodo protested, "I only have a cough, and it's too hot to lie under all those blankets!" Mrs. Brandybuck gave a little shrug, replying that they were the healer's orders for a summer cold. As soon as the door clicked shut, Frodo sighed heavily at the nasty remedy the healer had concocted up. Deciding that bed wasn't as bad as drinking something that was likely to make him spew, he grumped over to it and fell down coughing. He lied there for a few moments watching his drawings on the wall flutter in the warm breeze that was wafting through the open window.

"So hot!" he growled, pulling at his damp shirt irritably. It was mid-August, and as everyone knew, the most scorching month on the calendar. Dark curls were plastered across his forehead with perspiration, and the humidity was not helping his barking cough whatsoever. He wished that the ceiling would open up and snow all over him all the way past his chin, that way he would be able to get some blessed sleep. Things obviously weren't going the way Frodo wished they would, and when that happened he usually started writing a letter to his favorite cousin . . . Uncle Bilbo. Perhaps he was just a cousin, but he seemed more like an uncle to the lad.

Swinging his legs over the side of his bed and rubbing his spinning head, Frodo then walked over to his desk and shuffled through piles of sketches for a sheet of unspoilt paper. "For pity's sake, have I used every sheet?" He mumbled before finally producing what he looking for. _At least I have some good ink!_ He thought smugly as with victory, reaching up to a shelf and grabbing a small bottle of jet black ink. Yet as soon as he thought that he had it firmly in grasp, the container slipped out of his hold and fell hard on his head. Seeing stars, the boy sat stunned for a moment, the large bump swelling on his forehead. As he reached up and touched the wetness on his face, he assumed that death was imminent by all of the blood streaming down everywhere. He almost laughed despite his pain when he realized that it was only ink spilt on him. _What an ass I am! _He speculated with a roll of his eyes. And, wiping at his cheeks a little, he bent over and carefully began his letter.

_Dear Bilbo,_

_I've been meaning to write to you of late, but I have contracted a summer cold and have been only allowed by Esmie to walk to and from the privy and stay in bed. The healer's orders are not helping, either, since I am being forced even at the moment to drink nasty tonics and such. I have nearly been out of my mind with want of one of your tales, for it has indeed been dreadfully dull here in Buckland. Merry of course is a great partner for going on adventures with, and I couldn't ask for better care by his parents, Saradoc and Esmie, for me. Yet I have nobody to really talk to here, even though it's supposed to be my home. They all think I've turned sour ever since Mum and Da passed, and I actually can't blame them. I __**am**__ sour, Uncle, and they judge me correctly. And of course there's that Tim I was telling you about. I remembered your boxing lesson, and it came in quite handy last time he showed up, and I hit him hard, Bilbo, and oh it felt glorious! But then the others grabbed me and I couldn't hold all of them off . . . at least not yet, I couldn't. Oh! And Uncle, I was wondering if you knew any of the hobbits from down in Standelf, southwards from Buckland. A person I have recently met did me a great favor, and they are from there. I was hoping that sometime I might walk down there and pay them a visit, for I feel that I still owe them a great deal of repayment, since they showed themselves an honorable person, like those you speak of in your stories. That reminds me; I needed to ask you if I could possibly escape to Bag End for a week like last year during this Yule. The lasses are almost too much to bear, I tell you! They shower me with gifts and suffocating embraces and it is practically insufferable, the way they act! Well thank you Uncle Bilbo, and I hope you feeling well by the way, and I hope you respond soon! Your Nephew: Frodo Baggins_

Putting his pen back in the now almost-empty inkwell, Frodo smiled as he blew on his letter and carefully folded in half before sliding it into a large envelope. Remembering to seal it with wax, he then decided it was high time he escaped from his room for a bit. Yes, he was quite sick, but a summer day wasted was too much for one lad to bear. At least alone it was, and he intended to find some jolly company to have fun with. And grabbing his hat and a satchel full of odd bits and pieces of cakes and fruit, Frodo jumped out the window (which he had widened after his last accident) and let his long strides take him away from his home at a rapid pace.

The eager boy felt the wind in his curls as he flew by fields with their hardworking farmers inside them who were wondering where in the world that Baggins lad was going _now._ It felt so free to be able to run where he pleased in these grand, open hills and woods. Lifting up a small thought of gratitude, Frodo grinned as he saw his favorite swimming hole come in view over the crest of the hill he was racing up. It was a nice-sized pond with many rushes lining its borders, which gave anyone taking a dip some good privacy, especially if you happened to not be wearing anything as boys were wont to do in the summer.

Yet instead of headed directly toward the pond, the boy slowed to a walk and turned, bearing north to the main road. He whistled as he walked, his hands shoved in his deep pockets, fingering the various bits of 'treasure' he had collected in them over the past weeks. _There's where that button Esmie was looking for went!_ He thought, smirking at the remembrance of his cousin's scolding at his losing yet another button. He always lost his buttons, be it on shirt, jacket or coat; they just seemed to pop off at the worst moments, which was why he was only given lace-up shirts now. _Another Esmie special._ Frodo complained inwardly. So lost in his thoughts about buttons, Frodo collided with someone on the road. As he regained his balance again, stuttering his apologies, the other he had run into quickly shouted, "Frodo!"

"Tom! I was just coming to look for you, laddie!"

The two friends slapped each other's backs like lads will do. "This way, Tom! C'mon!" Frodo shouted before sprinting off back down the road with a beckoning wave of his hand. Tom shook his head at the impetuous lad and followed at a gait. "Frodo! Where are we going?" he shouted, all the while moving with great effort to keep up with the taller boy. The young Baggins only reply was to make a sharp turn down a hill while flinging his hat and shirt off in a slapdash fashion, not bothering where it landed. The younger brother of Tim Burrows smiled, knowing now what fun there was in store for the day.

"Wait up!" he called, slipping his own top off and folding it neatly under his arm unlike the other lad. He was glad he and Frodo could do things together like swim and raid Farmer Maggot's crops. But Frodo always did these things without talking much, which suited Tom just fine since his brother _did_ hate his companion's guts and asked for a report on what Frodo Baggins was up to almost every night. But still, Tom was pleased with the silence, and looked forward to the time he and Frodo spent together.

Frodo reached the pond first, pushing his way through the cattails as fast as he could. Upon reaching where the water began to rise, he splashed out into it as far as he dared – chest height – and began to joyously paddle about, letting the cooling water take the heat of the day far away. Tom soon joined him, wading out beside him and sighing with contentment. The two lads merely floated there in companionable silence, listening to the mysterious whisper of the wind as it passed through the trees overhead. Frodo shut his eyes as he lay back in the water, letting his surroundings make him forget about everything disagreeable in his world at the moment. As he floated there, allowing his thoughts to wander aimlessly, he suddenly thought of two people who weren't bad in the least to his knowledge . . . uncle Bilbo and the rescuer-lass, that, that . . . oh what was her name? Lettie. That was it.

He compared the two hobbits side-by-side in his mind. One was old and grey; one was the image of youth itself with her two ginger braids. One had grey eyes full of astuteness and experience; the other had green ones that sparkled with curiosity at every hint of movement. But both had one thing in common in their very different eyes, and that was a true gleam of compassion for a fellow hobbit. _Although Uncle seems to be a bit wilder than her . . . and I've only seen Lettie Boffin once._ Frodo thought, playing with a clod of itchy-moss bobbing up beside him, twirling its leaves in between his fingers. But still . . . when he had gone to fetch tea that day when she had saved him, he remembered tears springing to his eyes when he had entered the hallway. It was silly, as he believed then and now, but her trustworthiness towards him had moved something within his heart beyond all of the barriers he had set up in the past five years.

It was unnerving, he had to admit, feeling such gratitude towards someone who had done him a favor so simple, but he couldn't shake the sentiment away. _How disgusting!_ He thought irritably, finally sitting up in the midst of the rushes, to which he had inadvertently drifted over by. Apparently Tom was having the time of his life as Frodo was lost in daydreaming; the Burrows lad was forming substantial clods of mud in his hands, looking wickedly over at the other. "Oh no, you don't!" Frodo laughed, scooping up his own mud ball while calculating how high to throw it. And as he pitched it with all of his strength, sorely missing his target, Tom's mud clod came pealing through the air only to plant itself smack in the middle of Frodo's chest. Wincing with the resounding _smack_ that it made, the victim began picking some more of the heavy mud up when an idea passed though his mind.

Stooping down low, he pinched up a small amount of the stuff and then painted two long stripes on his cheekbones, grimacing like a deadly savage. Tom cocked his head with a quizzical smirk tugging at his lips, wondering just what his friend had in mind. And what Frodo had in mind was to give a shrieking war call and rush the enemy head-on like one of the Dwarves from Bilbo's stories. (Although I highly doubt that's what they looked like). Just as soon as the lad's mouth opened, there was a different kind of war call coming from the top of the hill . . . girls. With a despairing look at each other, the two boys settled deeper in the cattails, trembling lest they be found half-dressed by the lasses.

As the group of loudly chatting girls approached the swimming hole, they leisurely began shedding their skirts and bodices until they were in naught but their knickers and white blouses. Tom and Frodo flushed a deep red, both chastely covering their eyes, trying to keep as still as possible where they were hidden. Frodo recognized some of the shrill voices as belonging to some certain lasses he knew at Brandy Hall. _Ugh._ He thought with disgust, _why does it have to be Trillium, Tulip and their lot? Why not Columbine or some nice, pleasant people that keeps to themselves?_ As he poked at a tadpole squiggling around his knees, the young Baggins thought he heard a blunt, familiar voice amongst the annoying ones.

"I prefer to read here on the grass, thanks."

"Oh Marletta, come and have dip then, lass! You needn't be so modest." Trilly said scornfully, and Frodo could hear her splashing into the water. Or rather stumbling, as she was never the graceful lady she made herself out to be.

"Oh no, Trillium, I really am content to watch you all have fun while I read my book."

The other girls snickered at this statement, and Frodo heard Tulip saying smugly, "Oh really? Well . . . I suppose you can read and wade at the same time!"

"Um . . . no. . . I don't think that's quite possible . . . hey! Give that back!"

Pages were heard floating through the air, and then a small _splash._ Pealing laughter followed from the others, as well as Trilly's remark, "I guess being a goodie-goodie scholar never got you far . . . especially when you already look like an old maid at the age of twenty!" More laughter and remarks, this time much more mocking and jeering. Frodo could bear it no longer; his head shot up, blue eyes blazing. Through the rushes he saw five or so girls standing ankle-deep in the other side of the pond. They were all facing the defeated-looking Lettie sitting on the bank, her eyes a little misted as she stared at the place where her book bounced on the slight waves. With of his heart Frodo wanted to tear out of hiding and give those . . . those stupid, idiotic girls the good what-for. Yet as soon as he thought he was ready to do just that, he began to doubt himself.

_Frodo Baggins, what are you thinking?! They'll all just make fun of you, and besides that try and smooth things over, and anything you say won't even penetrate into their infinitesimal brains. And plus,_ he added as an afterthought, _Lettie seems like a brave lass. She can fend for herself well enough, I suppose._

So he slowly sank deeper under the water, his keen eyes still observing the scene. The girls in the water jabbered and gossiped about Mr. so-and-so and Ms. what's-her-name for a few dull minutes, all the while Marletta nervously fidgeting with the ends of her same two braids that were being blown about her shoulders by the warm wind. Frodo knew he had a duty to go and put this whole nonsense to a stop, but his feelings were telling him to stay put and therefore out of trouble. And sure enough, the lasses all eventually left in a trickle, each having nothing kind to say to Lettie, only smug smirks cast her way. Trilly flounced out of the water, 'accidentally' tripping over her, landing the Boffin girl's face in the earth. "Whoops!" Trillium said loudly, covering her mouth with mock dismay, "I should look where I'm going, sorry!"

Frodo observed Marletta carefully as she slowly pulled herself up, dusting her skirt off and rubbing at the smears of dirt on her face. She gave one last longing glance at her book in the pond before turning to trek up the hill. The lad swore he saw her brush a quick tear away as soon as she reached the road; her strides were more like shuffles. _Quite different from when she ran down Brandy Hall's lawn._ Frodo sadly thought, finally feeling a pang of bitter remorse for not helping the lass who had helped him, but instead turning his back on her as if she were not there. "Hey!" Tom hissed from across the pond, waving his arms. "Coming!" Frodo responded, swimming over. As he drew near, Tom said with relief, "I'm glad they didn't catch sight of us!"

"It looked as if they were too busy harassing L-L . . . that other girl to notice us much." The other lad said with a mix of guilt and wrath in his tone as he whipped his dark, dripping curls out of his face. Tom only shrugged, saying that it was lass matters and none of their concern. Frodo hesitantly nodded in agreement; wasn't he going just a bit too far on this whole 'loyalty' business? After all, Marletta was still a lass, which was something that he thought ridiculous. So then and there, Frodo Baggins decided to forget about Lettie altogether and continue with life in a respectable way.

The two boys eventually decided to get home before dark, for Tim would want a report soon, and Frodo knew that all of Brandy Hall would be out looking for him when he was found missing. And in addition to this, there were dark clouds on the horizon as well distant peels of thunder, and both of their families would be more than a little worried when they were out and about in a storm. Esmie would nearly drop dead after learning that her little cousin had been out swimming with a cold. Now to mention it, the lad _was_ starting to feel bad again as his cough that had been absent the entire day, now came back twice as worse. _I suppose I'll go back in through the window and hope nobody is out at this hour._ Frodo thought nervously as he walked back home, his step a little off-kilter as the shivers swept over him.

He slowly made his way up a rarely-used road (a way he took when he didn't want to be seen), his head feeling strangely light. "I'll . . . I'll j-j-just rest a bit h-here." He said to himself, sinking down in the middle of the path. Abruptly, the lad had no clear idea of where he was anymore; the world seemed to be reeling before his eyes and every tree was out of focus while the sky seemed to be distorted. He could feel his heartbeat pounding away in his chest, vibrating through his entire being. _I'm sick. _He finally acknowledged, shaking his head at his foolishness. Falling forward, he braced himself with his arms just before his face hit the ground . . . he reckoned he would have passed out if he had. From the contorted landscape he saw, and the swimming sounds in his ears, Frodo made out a voice . . . Esmie?

He heard footsteps pounding on the path, coming toward him, every tread a _boom_ louder than a hammer striking an anvil. Cool hands clasped his face, and there was a shout of alarm. Feeling himself being dragged for a ways, roots and stones tearing at his back as he passed over them, he felt like he was going to be sick. _Just put me down! _Frodo screamed inside his head, unable to do anything but moan. Then he felt something different. A smooth surface replaced the rocky terrain, and felt himself being rolled onto something soft yet rather scratchy. Then there was the loudest _BOOM_ that the lad had ever heard, making him sit up like a bolt with wide eyes, although nothing that he saw made sense. He was on top of a straw tick mattress and inside a dark, musty old hole. And Marletta was standing over by a foggy window with vexed eyes gazing out at the storm at hand. "Where am I?!" Frodo practically yelled before falling down on his back, utterly exhausted. The girl jumped, startled at his sudden outburst. "Lay down, Frodo Baggins!" she commanded sternly, walking over to him quickly.

"I _am_ laying down . . ." Frodo whispered feverishly, his neat brows furrowing so far to where they met. Lettie sighed, taking the potato sack she had put on him earlier, tucking it around his chin. It had looked as if he had been swimming when she had found him panting on the road, for all of his clothes were soaked, and he didn't even have a jacket or waistcoat on. And now she was stuck here in this abandoned hole with a horribly ill boy and nothing to cover him with! _What if he died?_ She thought, her lips tightening into a small line, _It would be my fault! _Here tears began to spring to her eyes, for she knew naught of what to do at this point, once she had gotten him somewhere dry and out of the storm. What was she to do with him now? A small sob escaped her mouth, and she buried her face in her hands, thinking that she would be guilty of his life forever if he decided to die soon. And anyways, she had already been having a horrible day, what with those wretched girls ruining the only book her uncle ever owned. And now . . . this. Frodo Baggins, of all people! How did he manage to get himself in predicaments when she was about?

"Poor Frodo . . ." she mumbled tearfully, patting his limp hand, remembering his bright way of asking her to stay to tea last month. Meanwhile, Frodo had been hearing her sob, and pity stirred in his heart. _Kind girl . . . crying over me like that._ He thought, frowning at hearing her hitched breath. Thinking he heard her say something along the lines of "Poor Frodo" as she patted his hand, the lad impulsively clutched it for a moment, murmuring, "Oh don't worry about me you silly thing. You're in my bubble, by the way" before he slipped off into a deep sleep. Lettie gave a small smile, pleased that at least he knew who was giving him care. "Sorry for not asking your permission this time." She whispered before going to see what she could do about starting a fire.


End file.
